Mend My Shattered Soul
by cashew
Summary: “He enjoyed the kill. Out of everything associated with the job he enjoyed the kill the most.” A companion piece to Shadows, if you haven’t read that this probably won’t make sense.
1. Chapter One

Mend My Shattered Soul

Rating: PG-13

Summery: Companion piece to Shadows-A brief insight to Ron's instructor. Gives hints and subtle spoilers if you can catch them!

Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize, I don't own.

A/N For some reason I just got intrigued with Mark and wanted to expand his character…let me know if you like him or not, because if feedback is positive I'll probably be working him into Shadows more, and perhaps continuing this.

"It's done," the man who was really no more than a boy stated solemnly.

"I am sorry," was the much elder man's response. The boy of nineteen meet the eyes of that whom he was speaking to. The old man didn't need to further in his apologies, or even explain them; he knew what was implied with the said regret.

"You have no reason to be Professor."

"Mark," Albus Dumbledore said in a rarely heard strained voice, "you do not have to pretend like it does not affect you." When he made no attempt to respond Dumbledore gestured to the available chairs in his office, "please do sit Mark."

With hidden irritation Mark complied to his mentors request; he didn't want to sit and have a heart-to-heart, he wanted to go somewhere and get wasted out of his mind…that sounded much more appealing. "I'm _fine_," he thickly emphasized, "I am not some child that you have to protect and give therapeutic remedies to all their problems. I will handle it on my own."

Dumbledore sighed heavily as he sat in his desk habitually cleaning his glasses. "You always have."

Mark projected an undeserved glare in his former headmaster's general direction before hurriedly quitting the room. If Dumbledore wanted to preach a sermon he could bloody well do it without him in attendance.

Within ten minutes Mark had made his way off of Hogwarts grounds and found the solace that he had been seeking in Dumbledore's office. He sat slumped over the bar and felt utterly miserable for once in his life. He used to always be in a good humor, now it was becoming a rare occurrence to find the ability to give off a natural smile.

Out of a newly developed habit Mark's eyes surveyed the room with an ever-present suspicion. He looked around the room and noticed a larger party sitting towards the back engaging in carefree drinking games. He saw two large men attempting to out drink each other and watched with something close to amusement as their friends loudly cheered on their pledged support.

Finally satisfied with his view of the main sections of the room Mark took notice of the fact that the bars on both sides of him were empty. It was a cynically pathetic picture come to think of it; he had no friends. He was a goddamn spy. A status that he bitterly recalled giving up all those who he cared about, and in return, cared for him as well.

They didn't care anymore…at least they didn't know to. He was dead. Dead to his former friends, dead to society. Hell, he was beginning to become dead to himself; if such a thing were possible.

Exactly one person knew who he was and that he was, in fact, still in perfect health. Well, physical health anyway; he wasn't sure if he could claim as such for his current mental health.

He had been so sure that it would be this cool thing. It was every fantasy that he had as a child come true. Except, it wasn't. It wasn't this huge adventure that you bragged about it anyone within hearing range, it wasn't a dream come to life. It just…was.

In the short time that he had held this job it had quickly overtaken Mark's life. He had became the job, or the job had became him…he wasn't quite sure anymore. All he knew was that there was literally no separation between him and his chosen career path. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that given fact as of yet.

Hearing a slight noise beside him Mark immediately turned his head to check out the situation. The situation turned out to be a girl. A very attractive girl who just happened to now be sitting beside him.

This very alluring female however, did not notice him in the least. She looked (if it were possible) more depressed than he. A people-watcher by nature Mark discreetly stared at the girl, scenarios running through his mind of what would have led her to end her night sitting alone at a bar looking so sad.

She turned her head slightly and her deep blue eyes widened as she saw him for the first time. She mistook his wonderings as irritation and quickly muttered, "sorry to impose or whatever."

She stood to leave and Mark found himself calling, "wait." It was said in a soft gentle tone but somehow was still easily perceived as command, rather than a request from a stranger.

"Look," she said in a cold tone, "just because I'm a female alone in a bar that does not mean that you are going to come anywhere _near _to getting laid tonight. You better hope that you're hand doesn't have other plans because that is as close as you're going to get to being fucked."

To the surprise of both participants in the conversation Mark began to laugh. Her defensive nature and harsh words somehow struck him as extremely humorous. With each bellow of laughter Mark could see her eyes narrowing a little more in rage.

"Asshole," she spat as she raised her hand to slap him; _that _should stop his incessant laughter.

However, before she could do anything Mark's reflexes kicked in and he instinctively caught her wrist in midair. "Sit," he said while sobering up, "I swear that I'm not some perverted rapist. I just want to buy you a drink."

He wasn't normally the type to 'buy a girl a drink' but he'd had a fucked up week, she had feministic spunk, and he would _really _like to hear someone else's sob tale…it would be a refreshing break from his own.

She bit her lip in contemplation as Mark waited patiently for her to accept his offer. Finally against her common sense she sat back on the stool, "whiskey, any kind."

Mark let out a low whistle, "whiskey?" He questioned mildly impressed, "I've never known a girl to go for hard liquor, well at least not _straight _for it anyway."

"Are you going to get the drink or not," she said in a tone that clearly showed her lack of amusement towards his speculations.

Mark shrugged and signaled the bar tender over, it wasn't his problem if she wanted to get trashed. As he thought about it, that was his whole reason for coming here too. He shrugged and handed the lady her drink; misery loves company.

"So, what's driving you to alcoholism?" Mark asked bluntly.

"None of your business," she retorted coldly.

"Ah," he said in a wise tone, "guy problems I see. Did he cheat on you and break your poor little heart?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "You know what, I wish that were my problem, it would make things a hell of a lot simpler."

Now _that _sparked his interest, it wasn't a guy, it was something else, something worse. Never one to take the hint to let a subject die he pursued, "well now, what could be more depressing than 'boy troubles?' How about…one of your friends stole your favorite lipstick?"

She slammed her now empty glass down on the counter in aggravation. "_No_," she hissed, "you cannot even begin to comprehend my problems so I suggest you just leave it alone." Mark shrugged and ordered another round for them, he wasn't very well going to let her get drunk alone, that would just be bad manners.

As she started on her second drink of the night she gave her companion a coy look, two could play the game that he was starting. "Well, I know why _I'm _here, but the question remains, why are _you _here?"

"I thought you'd already established that," he said with a smile, "to get laid. Although, according to you I should just go home, because apparently my hand is my best shot."

She started to smile, but quickly caught herself. She would not be amused by any of his lame attempts to get with her. "That's what you were hoping for," she said with her usually present wit, "but I don't think that is the reason why you came. So, let me see, why would a guy like you come to a bar, and sit alone rather than with company such as in the corner." She turned an entertained eye to the group of rowdy men who were still very much engaged in their drinking game.

She clicked her tongue and gave the appearance of being in deep thought. "I'm going to say that you did something horribly stupid to your girlfriend and she kicked you out."

"And why," Mark said, "do you presume that I did something horribly stupid? Perhaps, she cheated on me and I'm here wallowing in a mixture of self-pity, memories, and alcohol."

"Well that's simple," she replied smoothly, "girls may cheat, but we don't get caught."

He smiled, enjoying their banter, "how silly of me to forget such a thing. I suppose that I should just bow out now as your superior female mind is no match for my pathetically low male existence."

She laughed lightly as their conversation was turning in a direction away from her problems. "You're strange, you know that?"

"Well, I do hope that you're intentions for staying weren't to get laid yourself because comments like that will get you nowhere."

She shook her head and took another drink, "don't worry yourself, if I wanted to get some I rest in the assurance that I would have no problem in that area."

"Cocky aren't you," he said in amusement.

"Comes with the territory," she said with a shrug.

"So," Mark said slowly, "do you have a name, or would you prefer for me to address you as 'arrogant depressed female'?"

Her smile disappeared and she stumbled out of her seat, "I have to go…thanks for the drink." 

"No name huh?"

"I don't believe in given bar specifics. Call me whatever you want to, not like it matters to me. Later." She turned and left and he did nothing to stop her. She was interesting, but not worth the effort that it required to think of reasons to get her to stay.

With a sigh he turned back to nurse his own drink; he would have to find another way to amuse himself now.

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A/N If people like this I may continue Mark's past as a short side story…about five chapters or so. If not then let me know and I'll just leave it alone. But it if you did read the story, clues are there, do what you want with them. And if you read the latest chapter of Shadows then some things should start coming together for you. Review please!!!!


	2. Chapter Two

Mend My Shattered Soul

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, I own a few things…a few things I don't own. I'll let you figure out which belongs to me and which I only wish belonged to me.

Summary: "He enjoyed the kill. Out of everything associated with the job he enjoyed the kill the most." A companion piece to Shadows, if you haven't read that this probably won't make sense.

A/N- I wasn't going to continue with this story. But Mark has been plaguing me lately because he has been kind of in the wings of the story. He does have a role and some twists later in the story, but for now I'm developing him through this story. This is two years after the first chapter, no mention of Melissa in this one.

Chapter Two

He enjoyed the kill. Out of everything associated with the job he enjoyed the kill the most. If not for the pleasure derived out of his blood thirst the job would have done him in long ago.

Two years. Two bloody years on this espionage kick and it hadn't gotten any better. He was allowed to kill, encouraged to do so even…that made it all better. Of the few people he had ever met that had the same job description as his he found they found their desire for their job rested in the knowledge of truly helping humanity. That was bullshit and he wasn't afraid to call them on it. Anyone who kept with this job for more than three months had an unquenchable subconscious desire to destroy, to kill. He had the balls to admit, this was the separation between them and him.

He was encouraged, required, to receive professional psychological help. He didn't need it. He already knew he was insane, he didn't need a shrink to tell him that. And yet, he was here. Here at some "crisis center" to receive attention to his needs. He sneered at the prospect, loathing Dumbledore for forcing him into it.

A middle-aged brunette walked out into the waiting room with a confident ease in her step. "Mark," she greeted intimately without permission. "Please, come in."

He read the pin on her robe in annoyance. "Sheila," he said shortly, "could we keep this relatively quick?

"Healer Smith," she corrected automatically, "and no, Mark, we cannot keep this 'relatively quick' for your convenience."

"You know," he said with a mocking, lazy smile, "it's hardly fair to order me to refer to you as Healer Smith and then have you call me by my first name. If you ask me, that shows some sort of 'subconscious' desire and want for power and authority. Perhaps you should seek psychological help on that."

Her lips pursed together into a tight line. "I do not think we will be needing your wit and sarcasm today, Mark, please step into my office."

He shrugged and followed her in. "You're not a real Healer you know, you don't actually heal anything. You listen to complaints and feed people pretty lies that make excuses for their insanity."

"Have a seat, Mark," she said impatiently as she took her own in her superior chair overlooking the couch he was meant to lay on.

He rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, he would be damned if he were going to actually lie on the thing. Probably dirty anyway, so many people come into these offices and just lie all over the furniture never thinking about who was on it before them. He glanced suspiciously at the offending couch; he hoped no one diseased had been in before him.

"I understand," Healer Smith began graciously, "that the things that you confide and reveal to me are of the most serious nature. Anything you tell me will remain completely confidential, Albus has instructed me of the severity of your job."

"How nice of Albus. I'm a spy, Shelia, I pretend to be people and things that I'm not so that I can trick them into giving me information. And when they are no longer of use to me I dispose of them. And by disposing, I mean kill. That's where the real perks of the job come in. I get to do it any way that I want, and I will never get in trouble for it…hell, they give me houses and medals for every kill I complete." He sat bemused at her shocked expression.

"So," he continued pleasantly, "what do you say, am I insane? I do hope so, otherwise I would have to reanalyze myself…and that just takes time that I do not have."

She shook herself suddenly, she could handle this arrogant, pompous "spy," she had seen worse. "I do not believe that anyone is insane, least of all you. Some are merely ill in the mind; it is a sickness that needs to be treated as any sickness. You, Mark, are very ill. It's obvious that you have some sort of subconscious-"

He cut her off, enjoying thoroughly watching her squirm, "what is it with you psychologists and your precious subconscious? Personally, I think it's something you all made up to explain all the shit that you have no explanation to. If there is no logical explanation for something, it must be a subconscious desire. Don't tell me this psychobabble about how I was most likely mentally abused as a child and this led up to my current 'illness,' I don't want, nor do I need, to hear it."

Her calm finally broken, her voice began to rise in irritation. "Whether or not you believe that you need it, you will receive it because you have been ordered to have it! Albus and I agree that you are a sick young man, now if you will calm down and allow me to help you we can move along."

This wasn't even humorous for him anymore, he had lost his desire to provoke her, he just wanted to leave. He stood up decisively, "well maybe I don't work for Dumbledore anymore, so therefore I do not have to stay here." Satisfied that he wouldn't have to stay and hear her analysis of him he stalked out of the room and apparated straight to just outside the Hogwarts grounds.

He had always despised the wards that surrounded Hogwarts; it made it so inconvenient to get there. To apparate one must do so a good mile away, and walk the rest of the way. The walk did give him time to think though, time to decide what he was doing.

He was sick of being the goody-goody spy for Albus. He enjoyed certain aspects of his job, but didn't actually enjoy the job itself. He didn't enjoy the people he was helping, in fact, he could barely stand them. The Light activists, the really extreme ones…they were hypocrites in his eyes. Most people who fancy themselves to be good and pure are so far from that. They grow up in this box, surrounded by people like them who teach them to be "good" and tell them that anyone not like them is evil.

Without evil there is no good. They never take the time to look at things from a different prospective, to view it from the other side. He grew up in a Dark home…if they knew that they would all but ostracize him for it.

He had left his family when he was sixteen, stayed under the protection of Dumbledore and Hogwarts. At times he wished he wouldn't have left, he knew that parts of him were dark…he couldn't change that fact. He couldn't change who he was, he was brought up to know and embrace evil as a confidant, changing values and morals isn't easy. He respected Dumbledore, he saw his mentor's power as a wizard, and was able to appreciate his steadfast views on the world. He was consistent and he would help you if you so desired him to do so.

But he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't pretend to be something that he just wasn't. His family had been Dark for so many generations; it was in his blood as well as his mind to do as his ancestors had done.

The rumors of Voldemort's return were true. He knew it deep within himself. The power of his family's master called to him, beckoned him to come. He despised weakness, hated that he felt drawn to the Dark…drawn to Voldemort. He wouldn't join Voldemort, he just wasn't sure if he could continue to work for the Light. He was more neutral than anything else at the moment. He cared for his own survival.

Finally with Hogwarts close in view his train of thoughts disappeared. He made his way to the front entrance of the school and found that Dumbledore's office came too quickly. No turning back, he would do what he needed to do. What was best for him…what was best for everyone.

His eyes darted around to make sure no one was within hearing distance as he said the password to the office only loud enough to ensure entrance. Rainbow colored gumdrops…Albus always had been able to come up with the most interesting passwords. Mark always felt rather silly even saying them. And he despised feeling silly.

"Mark," he heard a heartfelt greeting that made him wince, "is your session done already?"

"I left." he said simply. "Albus," he began, quick to get to the point, "I think that I quit."

"You quit," Dumbledore repeated slowly, "are you quite sure about that decision, Mark?"

Mark nodded with apprehension. This had been his life…and now it would be gone. It was time to move on though; he couldn't fight for a cause that he didn't believe in. "I'm sure, it's just not for me anymore."

"Well," Dumbledore said as he stood up from his chair, "we will miss your contributions, but will miss you as a person even more."

  
Mark almost smiled, no one besides Albus would miss him at all. He wasn't exactly a favorite among those who knew that he even existed; they saw him as a potential threat…as a potential compromised spy.

"It's time to move on," Mark said as he moved towards the door, "but I do appreciate all that you've done for me. I respect you, Albus, but please don't look for me after this. I don't think that I want to be found."

Dumbledore nodded shortly, Mark deserved a break. In his heart and mind though, he thought Mark would come back. He was a true master at this game, and he seemed to love it…even if now he said he didn't. It had been a difficult two years for him, he had made it this far, he would be a fool to leave it all now.

Mark left the office guessing Dumbledore's thoughts. He would not be back though. He wasn't leaving the game as he said he was because he hadn't grown weary of it, only the side that he was fighting on. He would continue, but for himself alone.

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A/N- lol, I had to put in a part with a psychologist because I was forced to watch Dr. Phil against my will and I've been itching to make fun of one for days now. I think she might be making an appearance in Shadows by the way…Ron and therapy, sounds like a good combination to me, lol. If anyone read this and has also read Shadows you should hopefully have a new view on Mark…that's all I'm going to say on that. Reviews are always nice!

Thanks to Penny Wishes and EnchantedSpirit for reviewing the first chapter!


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